Under the Tree
by nicknamewizard
Summary: Valjean stops in the park one day to investigate a fallen tree. Who should he then meet, but Inspector Javert? Mild slash, sort of. This is my first published fic, so criticism is appreciated!


**A/N: **Greetings, fellow readers and writers! I am new to fanfiction, so you'll have to forgive any awkwardness on my part in communications and etiquette and things, but I expect to get the hang of it pretty quickly! Thank you very much to my reviewer, for your review and your suggestion! I took your advice and changed a bit of the dialogue; hopefully now it fits better with the time period and the character. Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read this little story! Enjoy!

One day, the path of Jean Valjean was blocked by a fallen tree as he ambled along on his morning walk through a park in Paris. He was walking alone that day, a rare event for him. Usually he was accompanied by his daughter, Cossette, but she had elected to stay home, as, unfortunately, she was suffering from womanly pains. So, Valjean was by himself when he noticed the tree. His first reaction was one of surprise, because the tree seemed to be a perfectly healthy oak with a full crown of leaves and a strong, straight trunk. Why had it fallen?

Valjean decided to investigate. First of all, he walked around to the base of the tree and examined the exposed root system. The roots were thick and many still reached deep into the ground despite the new horizontal position of the woody plant. Valjean prodded them to check for rot, but they felt as strong and hard as a good, healthy root should be.

So it wasn't the root system that was the problem after all. Valjean, drawing upon his knowledge of gardening gained during his youth in Faverolles, attempted to figure out a possible solution to this puzzle. It obviously wasn't broken at the trunk, and the roots were in pristine condition, so maybe the problem was with the ground itself. Yes, Valjean mused, there had an unusually high amount of rainfall as of late. Perhaps the water had softened the dirt and the weight of the tree had simply been too much for the roots to anchor.

The former convict began to prod at the ground around the roots, testing his theory. The dirt was certainly soft where his hands shifted it, but Valjean knew the surface of the earth could be very different from the lower layers.

Burning with curiosity, the aging man used all of his considerable strength to dig into the ground, searching for loose dirt, mud, broken stones, anything that would explain the demise of this perfectly healthy tree. He tossed handfuls and armfuls of soil off to the sides of the tree, singing as he worked, an old work song that his chain gang had often sung in Toulon...

Just as Valjean was beginning to realize that flooding couldn't be the cause of the tree's fall as the dirt was as dry as bone-meal and hard as any rock he had split with a pick in prison, he was distracted by a pair of black knee-high leather boots that decided to plant themselves beside his meager excavation.

"Did you lose something, Monsieur?" a voice asked, a deep, authoritative voice, a horribly, terribly familiar voice, a voice out of Valjean's darkest dreams... Almost against his will, Valjean's eyes traveled slowly up the legs, noting the most familiar blue overcoat that just brushed the tops of the boots, the three-pointed hat clutched in competent hands, the fluffy cravat and high collar, the immaculately groomed side-whiskers, the brow exposed with hair pulled back into a gentleman's queue...

At last, Valjean met the frightening gaze of Inspector Javert.

The Inspector, at once recognizing Valjean, was at first too surprised to do anything. He blinked somewhat stupidly at the man on the ground before him, the convict he had had in his thoughts for years, whom he had chased through the humble Montreuil-sur-mer and into the streets of gay Paris... Javert shook his head to clear it. He should arrest Valjean; he should bring him to the constabulary for processing, and then...what? It suddenly occurred to Javert that he had no idea what would happen if he actually brought Valjean in. He wondered if his superiors would actually be pleased to regain the escaped parolee, or if maybe they would consider the old man a waste of time and resources. Javert found that he honestly hadn't thought further than the actual apprehension of former prisoner 24601, which, he reflected, was a rather serious and blundering oversight. Furthermore, he wondered for the first time if the man truly deserved to return to prison. He was just sitting innocently on the ground, a kindly aging man, who had a daughter, too, if Javert wasn't mistaken.

As his mind wandered, the Inspector observed the former convict. His face was proud and strong, even smeared with dirt as it was. Valjean looked well, Javert admitted to himself. He was healthy, and his body retained the musculature developed by years of hard physical labor in Toulon.

Toulon... All those years ago... Javert still remembered Valjean the way he was back then, proud, defiant, almost savage with a wolf's intelligence, but also possessing of a curiously gentle gaze that reminded Javert of a she-wolf who might be watching her pups.

The Inspector had often overseen Valjean's chain-gang while they worked, splitting rocks and lumber and such, always hard work, always long hours. The convicts sometimes felt more comfortable working shirtless under the heat of the blazing sun, and Javert remembered how his prisoner looked, muscles taught and rippling, back glazed with sweat... A heat of his own rose within the Inspector, and he was transported back to reality.

Feeling suddenly foolish, he set his hat back upon his head and glared at Valjean, just daring him to criticize his undisciplined mind and burning face.

"What are you doing in the dirt, man?" Javert questioned, annoyed.

Valjean stalled, wondering how best to explain while at the same time contemplating escape. It shouldn't be too hard to make a break for it, he decided, as the star struck Inspector seemed lost in thought. "Weeeelll..." he said, "I was walking along this path, you see, when I noticed this fallen tree, and I was wondering what cause there could be for such an odd occurrence, as it seems perfectly healthy, and so I felt it necessary to investigate."

"You look like a naughty child making mud pies," the Inspector noted with some amusement apparent in his voice.

Valjean pursed his lips, unable to deny the accuracy of that statement. He tried to brush some errant dirt off his shoulder, but only succeeded in smearing it all over his coat. "I was in fact, investigating, Inspector. Surely one of your position can appreciate that," the former convict declared irritably.

An amused grin spread across the Inspector's face. "You're a dolt, Valjean," he remarked, extending his hand and drawing the kneeling man to his feet. "How you managed to survive nineteen years in Toulon, I'll never know." Javert nodded towards the fallen tree. "That tree was pulled down by a conservation group yesterday. A parasite has been infecting local oaks, so some are being removed to prevent the spread of the disease."

Valjean scratched the back of his head sheepishly. Thinking back, he had known about the blight. He had simply been too excited at the prospect of investigation to remember. He needed to get out more.

Javert stepped around the tree and began to walk leisurely down the path, nodding at Valjean to follow. They strolled together for a time, leaving the fallen tree behind them, until Valjean thought to ask, "Are you going to arrest me?"

Javert slowly walked to a stop and, thinking, kicked at a rock at the side of the path. "No," he said.

Looking askance at the stocky Inspector, the former convict questioned, "Why? Not that I don't appreciate it, of course, but one does wonder..."

Heat rose up again in the Inspector's face, turning his ears red. He had known the old jailbird would question him, but he didn't have an answer prepared. It wouldn't do to tell Valjean that he simply didn't want to, now, would it? Javert cleared his throat, hoping the other man wouldn't notice his embarrassment. "Well, now," he said gruffly, "maybe you misunderstand. I'm not of a mind to forgive your crimes on a whim; however, if you would be willing to do some work for the constabulary, I would most certainly be more lenient."

"What work?" Valjean asked.

Javert looked at him sideways before replying, trying to predict the other's response. "The grounds around the building are truly hideous. They need to be landscaped. You were once a gardener, were you not? If you would be so kind as to lend your capable hands, I will ignore your history and let you live in peace. You will also be paid, of course."

Watching Valjean consider the proposal, Javert found himself hoping dearly that the former convict would accept the position. He had learned a lot about the man during the past years, and one thing he knew without a doubt was that Valjean wasn't stupid. He was infuriatingly stubborn, yes, and he had a gigantic blind spot where the underprivileged were concerned, but he was more intelligent than every single officer employed by the Paris police, save Javert himself. The Inspector desired the companionship of someone who wasn't a dimwit, and who wasn't a dandy. And so, Valjean was the logical choice.

Yes... The man would be a pleasure to work with. His strength and ability was evident in his broad shoulders, the slope of his back, his long legs and neat waist, his strong jaw... Maybe when the man was done with the grounds of the constabulary, he would like to do some landscaping around Javert's flat...

Valjean raised an eyebrow at the Inspector's wandering gaze, causing his ears to once again burn. Javert found something incredibly interesting off in the distance and chose to observe it philosophically rather than meet the convict's amused eyes.

"I'll do it," Valjean said cheerily.

Hardly able to prevent a pleased smile making its sudden home upon his countenance, Javert simply said, "Ah, good." and remained entranced by whatever it was that fascinated him deep in the park.

Valjean's grin rapidly evolved and soon became a laugh. He gripped the Inspector's shoulder in his dirt-stained hands, chuckling as Javert ducked his head, unable to conceal his smile.

"My old friend," Valjean said warmly.

"I must admit, I'm pleased," Javert declared, looking at Valjean openly for perhaps the first time. This new expression suited the Inspector, softening his features until he seemed almost approachable. Valjean approved.

Linking their arms, Jean Valjean led the Inspector down the path. "Come, Javert," he exclaimed. "You and I have much to discuss."


End file.
